


In the Pale of the Night

by LionessOnYourBack



Category: Original Work
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-30
Updated: 2015-04-30
Packaged: 2018-03-26 10:10:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 957
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3846949
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LionessOnYourBack/pseuds/LionessOnYourBack
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A young woman tries to cope with the bitter sweet memories of her childhood.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In the Pale of the Night

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted to FFn before it split original works off to FictionPress.com  
> https://www.fictionpress.com/s/1011998/1/In-the-Pale-of-the-Night  
> English - Angst/Hurt/Comfort - Published: Oct 13, 2002
> 
> Written as if the reader is Hannah.

'It's night again,' I think to myself as I watch the moon rise from my bedroom window. 'And again, I am alone.'

I sigh and turn towards the door of my room. I'm not quite sure why I'm going back downstairs...it just seems like the thing to do. I don't bother with any lights, I know where everything is placed so I can avoid it with ease...too many night time strolls through this place I guess.

It's not my house you know, I'm only renting a room from the kind, little, old lady that really owns it. It saves my parents tuition money for my college. College...my escape from my old life...from my memories of...him.

As I get to the back of the house, where all of my art supplies are kept whenever I can't seem to haul them to my room, my mind wanders back to those three months of that faitfull summer.

Numbly, and without realizing it, I set up a canvas, arange some paint, brushes, and a few other assorted supplies, and I just go. My mind is back at the pool where those older boys were picking on him and I tried to help. I really only made things worse for him, I hated myself for doing it, but there was just something drawing me to him. I couldn't let him suffer despite the burning fear within me. He retaliated suddenly and fled into the forest, and I followed him like a moth to an open flame.

As the memories of all those years ago flood into my mind, my eyes become un-seeing. I don't know what I'm painting, I'm just letting the paint smear on the canvas any way it wants to. Naturally, I don't see the haunting three-quarters profile form on the blank surface before me. The figure is looking at me from over his left shoulder. He, because it is most deffenetly a boy, is well muscled. I've never been able to paint anything like this before, but that isn't what is making this painting so fantastical. The eyes that this man is looking at me with from the canvas are green and brown, he is a harlequin, a man with bi-colored eye. Along his back where the strong muscles for the shoulders and the strong conecting muscles for the shoulder blades are, are two very large scars. This man has been though hell.

But my eyes do not see any of it, I'm still sitting at the old fire circle with the little boy that ran away from that fight. I was young then, but I knew what beauty was, and it was this boy. I have never met anyone like him, not ever. His open trust of me was one of the greatest pressents that anyone has ever given me.

For three months we were best friends. We went together better than peanut butter and jelly. Free time ment time together.

The face on the canvas is that of a young man, but the troubled look in the miss matched eyes could melt even the coldest of hearts. However, my un-seeing eyes make me imune to the sorrowfull stare that the panting has. As one part is finished, I effortlessly continue to the next as my memory fast forwards to one particular night in that nearly forgotten summer.

He had never not come to meet me before, it practically killed me. I walked all the way back to my cabin not hearing anything that was going on around me. The counselor that was waiting for me at my cabin practically shook me before giving me a note and leaving. it was from him, explaining why he wasn't there, and asking me to sneak out later that night to meet him at the old fire circle where we had first gotten to know eachother. Naturally, I did it. When I met up with him, I was surprized at how happy i was to see him, I'd never felt this happy before. He told me that fait had brought us to eachother, how he wanted to stay friends with me long after camp ended. My head was spinning as he rattled off his address to me, he had brought paper and a pen so that we could exchange addresses. After some more talking, it was desided that we should head back to our cabins, lest the counselors notice our absences. As we hugged eachother good night, he called out my name softly, and when I turned my head to reply, he gently and tenderly placed a kiss on my lips.

At that very instant I snap out of my sleepwalking like state and stare at the piece that I had been painting, and there, staring back at me is the angel of that very summer that I had just been remembering. I sigh at the bitter sweet memories as I dip my paintbrush into the white paint and then begin to place a title on the panting. I don't have the heart to desstroy it, despite the painfull memories.

"Well Shayne," I say to the painting. "I hope that you'll be my angel for just a little bit longer. I need someone here to help me through it all, and I wish with all my heart that it could be you, but I'm no fool. You're probably hundreds of miles away with a wonderfull girlfriend and no memory of me what-so-ever."

I turn to leave the room, but take one last look at the title that I gave the work, "In the Pale of the Night - painted by Hannah Mosely."

I sigh, shake my head, and head back throught the dark to my room...alone.

**Author's Note:**

> AN: For Dani, who asked me to keep trying.
> 
> This is a side story for an original fix a friend and i were working on back in 2000 or 2001. If you want to read it over at Fiction Press, it only has 2 chapters and is forever unfinished. https://www.fictionpress.com/s/1123740/1/The-End-With-You   
> I'll leave it up to you though, to see if you want to learn more about Hannah and who it is she's been painting.


End file.
